O Memory! thou fond deceiver.

That strain once more; it bids remembrance rise.

To the last moment of his breath On hope the wretch relies; And e'en the pang preceding death Bids expectation rise.

Good people all, with one acord, Lament for Madame Blaize, Who never wanted a good word - From those who spoke her praise.

In the course of twenty crowded years one parts with many illusions. I did not wish to lose the early ones. Some memories are realities, and are better than an…

You see, I have no real complaints of how you've left your past behind I guess what gets me worried is you've erased him from your mind.

The act of writing requires a constant plunging back into the shadow of the past where time hovers ghostlike.